Page 16 of Speed

“Gunny, seriously, your speed sprints blew ninety percent of us away.” I kind of liked how, after only one day, I had my official nickname. That made me feel as if I were part of the team, even though I could be sent down at any moment. “Coach said we should go, so go. You can sleep here on the bench tonight to make sure you’re here when they unlock the doors at six.”

I blushed. Okay, so yeah, I’d been here at six this morning to put in extra ice time before the rest of the guys arrived. Coach had arrived first, picking me out on the ice practicing one-timers. He’d not said anything—he wasn’t a big talker unless you fucked up, then he talked right into your face–but he took note. Dedication. That was what got you on the final roster.

Going the extra mile. Pushing harder than the other rookies. That would secure my spot. Not standing on the ice alone shooting pucks at the net while my mind drifted to the sounds Brody Vance had made when he came. Which was why the sound of frozen rubber hitting glass was so prevalent during my solo time. The man was in my head. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake him. Maybe an afternoon out with some of the Railers was what I needed. Just some fun. Simple, easy guy stuff.

“I would like to race against you as well,” Nikolai added after rinsing the lactic acid from his mouth, then spitting the rinse water into the air in an arc that almost hit one of the linesmen. “I see that maybe you drive like you check. Only little bumps in the backside.”

“Last I heard, you liked bumps in the backside,” Blake tossed out.

Nikolai snickered.

Okay, so the walls were dropping. Seemed at least one of my future teammates—think positive Dad always says—was a little queer?

“I am liking bumps in the backside just fine,” Nik replied as he slung his leg over the boards. “You should know this, yes?”

My eyes went wide. No shit, were these two getting it on?

“He’s talking shit. We never bumped backsides,” Blake said as we hit the ice. “He likes to stir the pot when he can. We went out one time. No sparks, decided to be buddies. I mean, dating your teammate is tricky. If you break up, there’s shit in the locker room.”

“Yeah, that would suck,” I concurred.

“Big time. So you racing?”

“I’ll be there.” I held out my fist.

Blake thumped it as we skated in for the faceoff. Which I won, handily. Not to brag but… yeah, I was bragging to myself. That was a killer skill to have, and the coaches were keeping track. I’d have to buy my dads an extra tie for Father’s Day for all the time spent on the ice honing that talent.

The scrimmage lasted for about forty-five minutes, the blues beating the grays by one goal. I’d done pretty well overall, I felt, so when I got called off the ice by Coach Morin, I went along, as did O’Leary. My nerves spiked a bit. Why was the captain needed in this talk? Shit, was I being sent down already?

“Nothing to worry over,” Jack whispered as wethunkedour way down the cattle chute towards the offices. “Just some medical stuff.”

Oh, okay, yeah that tracked. We pushed into the team doctor’s office.

The doctor’s office felt cramped with everyone crammed inside—Coach Morin in a chair; Steve, team nutritionist extraordinaire, and Jack O’Leary, team captain and a role model of mine, leaning against the wall. We’d been called in for one ofthosemeetings… the kind where people dissect my vulnerabilities due to diabetes. But I was used to this kind of scrutiny. It came with the territory, and honestly? I was good at handling it. If I made the team, there would also be a professional available to support me, but of course, that was an added cost to the Railers and might be the one thing that took me off their list. The team athletic trainer, Jordan Mahesh, was here, too, as was the team physician, Dr. John Tibel. I’d talked to the team doc online, but this was the first time we’d met in person. I shook everyone’s hands, then sat.

I leaned forward in my chair, trying not to fidget as all their eyes focused on me. I wasn’t nervous, but I didn’t want to come off as overconfident, either. I wasn’t on the team yet.

Steve adjusted his glasses, and his voice was calm and professional as he picked up the iPad, where the data from the continuous glucose monitor I wore was sent. The same information ruled my life—available on my phone and watch.

“Now, we’ve already talked at length, Noah, but for our records, you’re wearing a CGM on your chest during training, and I have the data here that looks good.”

“Thank you.”

“How has that been working out for you?” Dr. Tibel asked.

“It’s been… fine,” I said, patting where the disc sat beneath my shirt. “I’m used to a CGM—I’ve been wearing one for years. Switching to my chest has required some adjustment, but I’ve managed well. The readings have been quite accurate.”

“And you’re managing with injections instead of a pump.”

“Yeah, a pump would be dangerous. One hit, and it could stop working.”

He nodded, tapping a note. “Good call. How’s practice been? Any lows?”

I hesitated, glancing at Coach and Cap before answering. “I had a couple of warnings,” I admitted. “But I caught potential lows early. I’ve got gels and tabs on hand, and I’ve been careful to check my numbers regularly. I don’t want to be a liability out there.”

Cap raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed. “You’re not a liability, but if you’re on the ice and something happens, it affects the whole team.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said quickly, not wanting to sound defensive. “I’ve been managing diabetes for years. I’ve established routines. I understand my body, and I know how to handle it.”

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